


Start All Over

by gelowo93



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Daddy Issues, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelowo93/pseuds/gelowo93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Jack's life from the years he spent coaching peewee hockey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start All Over

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Josh for beta-ing this for me. All remaining mistakes are my own.

It had been his papa’s idea. He’d barely been out of rehab a month when papa had turned to him at the dinner table. He’d been chasing his peas around the plate, not really feeling hungry and only eating the bare minimum to make maman happy. He hadn’t even realised papa was talking to him at first.

“ _Jack,_ ” papa had said when it was obvious he wasn’t paying attention.

“ _Désolé_?” he had said, finally looking up. It had been a huge effort to look papa in the eyes, but doing so had started to get easier recently. Only just.

*

He had met Coach Landry – Nathan – and got on with him well enough. Nathan had seemed hesitant at first, obviously only giving him half a chance because of who his papa was. Maybe Nathan owed papa a favour; that sounded about right. No one in their right mind would consider a druggie to coach peewee hockey.

Ex-druggie.

His therapist had told him that the words he associated with himself would affect his recovery. If he carried on focussing on the negative things, his anxiety would only get worse as he’d start expecting to fail.

His therapist didn’t know that he had known for a long time that he would always fail. It was something he had learnt after seeing the look of disappointment in his papa’s eyes one too many times.

*

The day before his first practice, he had asked for the keys to his car back. He hadn’t skated since _before_ , and he hadn’t wanted to put his skates on for the first time with a crowd of 11 year olds staring at him.

“Where are you going?” maman had asked.

“The ice rink. I want to skate before tomorrow.”

“I’ll take you.” Papa had walked into the living room.

He hadn’t been able to look papa in the eye when he’d said, “I don’t want you there.”

“I need to go into town anyway. I can drop you off on the way and you can ring when you want picking up.”

“I’m not a _child_ ,” he had said, stubbornly. He had wanted to prove that they didn’t have to worry about him. He wasn’t a complete fuck up.

“I know.” He hadn’t missed the sigh hidden in papa’s words. “But let me look after you for now, eh?”

He had caved.

*

It was a non-competitive team; the kids played for fun.

He wasn’t sure when he had last enjoyed playing hockey. Maybe it was when he was the same age as these kids now. All he remembered about playing was knowing that he needed to win. For his papa, for his coach, for his team. Not for himself, that had never seemed as important.

At the first practice of the year, all 20 boys had looked up at him, bright eyed and smiling. When Nathan had introduced him, they had all chorused, “Nice to meet you, Coach Zimmermann” and he had smiled back, though it had felt more like a grimace.

But despite his worries, the first practice had gone well. So had the second, third, and fourth.

He had slowly learnt the names of the boys, and the recurring issues each of them had. Richard had a weak slapshot; Tom struggled with his aim; Shaun always lost his face-offs. At every practice, he would take one or two of the boys to the side and give them practice on whatever they struggled with.

Over the weeks, he watched the boys improve.

*

Coach Zimmermann.

Coach Zimms.

Coach Z.

*

A couple of months into coaching the team, Nathan had rang him before one of the practices to let him know that he was ill and wouldn’t be able to make it. He had said that it was okay and that he felt confident enough to handle the boys on his own. He had soon started to regret that statement.

He had heard the whispers as the boys joined him at centre ice at the beginning of practice. A small group of them had hung back, huddled at the team bench until he had shouted them over. Even then, the boys hadn’t stopped muttering amongst themselves while he had been explaining what they were going to do that day.

Eventually, he had had to raise his voice, “What’s wrong with you lot today?”

No one had spoken. Not until the tiniest, scrawniest kid on the team had stepped forward and said, “Is it true you were going to play for the NHL?”

He had managed to hold himself together for the next two hours. Once practice was over, he had hurried everyone off the ice and back to their parents, lying about having to rush off so he wasn’t expected to hang around and chat like he normally did.

He had finally broken in the store room.

He had fallen to the floor, the world spinning around him. Each breath he had taken was like breathing in fire, and his mind hadn’t focused on anything apart from _theyknowtheyknowtheyknow_.

They knew who he was supposed to be. They knew he’d dropped out of the draft. They probably knew why he’d had to drop out, too. The boys would be quitting the team now, one by one as their parents found out, until Nathan would tell him that he had to quit. The choice was between having a team or having a coach, and what use was a coach without a team?

It had been sometime after the nausea had passed that he had realised that the boys had still turned up to practice today. Most of the boys were friends at school; they must have found out about him days ago and been gossiping since then, but they had still wanted him as their coach. They weren’t going to quit because of his past. They had still respected him. They had still wanted to play for him. They had still called him Coach Z and mock saluted him as they left the ice.

Maybe their parents knew. Maybe they hadn’t told their parents for fear that they’d be taken off the team against their will. Maybe, after being broken for so long and falling from grace so spectacularly, he was still worth something, if only to these boys.

And maybe that was better than being an NHL superstar.

*

He had had three missed calls from papa by the time he came round enough to check his phone. He should have been home an hour ago.

With shaking fingers, he had sent a text.

*

Papa found him on the floor of the store room, sniffling and shaking, but okay. Papa – awkward but caring papa, who had tried to do his best for his son but had managed to go so wrong –  pulled him into a hug.

For the first time in a long time, Jack hugged him back.

*

It took Jack longer than he liked to admit to find his old hockey stick. He had been using one of the spares at the ice rink, and at some point his own must have been stashed in the attic, along with the rest of his old hockey gear. Once he had it, it was easy to find everything else he’d need to practice.

In the back garden, Jack set up 3 cones in a triangle, not too far away from each other, and he started dribbling a golf ball around them. He gradually got faster, but he was nowhere near as quick as he used to be. He had to stay at half the speed he used to be able to do it at to make sure he didn’t lose control of the golf ball.

It was some time before he noticed papa watching him from the back door. Papa was smiling. It was a small, guarded smile, as if he was uncertain about showing his approval.

 Jack stopped. The golf ball went rolling towards the other side of the garden. Jack shrugged and went to collect the cones.

“Sorry,” papa called. “Don’t stop because of me. You were doing well.”

Jack tried to ignore the rush of happiness at his papa’s praise. He failed.

*

One evening after practice, Jack caught Nathan before he left the ice.

“I was wondering whether you’d mind hanging around after practice so I could do some training.”

Nathan looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Won’t your dad help with that?”

“I don’t want him to see me. Not yet.”

Nathan clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Not tonight, the wife’s expecting me. Next time, though.”

*

At the end of the season, the team held an awards ceremony to which the players and their families were invited. It was a long evening of making small talk with the parents that made Jack grateful for the media training he’d had. Sometimes talking to the parents wasn’t too bad; Jack usually spoke to the parents after practice and he knew some of them well. Then there were the others, the ones who left with their kid as soon as practice was over, and only dropped them off and picked them up from matches. Jack felt bad about leaving those parents for Nathan to talk to, but he had a feeling that their seeming reluctance to support their son’s hobby was because of him. He knew better than to give his anxiety a reason to rear its head again.

After the awards had been given out, the team gathered to have a photo taken. The boys complained, tried hiding in the toilets, and kept mussing up each other’s hair. Jack couldn’t help laughing at them while Nathan tried to make them stay still for long enough to take a photo.  Eventually, Nathan gave Jack a desperate look and he stopped laughing.

“Ok, stop messing around, boys,” said Jack, stepping forward.

“Are you going to be in the photo, too, Coach Z?” one of the boys shouted.

Jack glanced at Nathan. Nathan shrugged.

“Only if you stand where you’re supposed to so we can enjoy the rest of the evening.”

The team erupted in cheers, and then Jack had several twelve year olds on each arm, dragging him towards the group. A couple of the boys tried to jump up to ruffle his hair, but they couldn’t reach and Jack laughed at them. In retaliation, he patted their hair so it lay flat, and laughed harder at their distraught expressions.

“You’re supposed to be on our side!” Mike said, running his hand through his hair again.

“I’m on the side of the people who want to get this over with so you lot will stop complaining.” Jack grinned. “Come on, it’s been ten minutes, if you’d behaved to start with then this would have been over ten minutes ago.”

Mike pulled a face. “I forget you’re an adult, you only pretend to be cool.”

It didn’t take long after that for everyone to get into position. Those who had won awards were kneeling at the front, their trophies in front of them. Jack stood behind the team in the centre.

When one of the boys, Craig, wouldn’t stop talking, Jack flicked the top of his ear. Craig looked around, looking annoyed and shocked that Jack would do that.

Jack stuck his tongue out and motioned for him to turn around so they could take the photo.

*

Maman and papa had gone out, leaving Jack in the house on his own. They’d only just started doing that – they thought he didn’t notice that whenever both of them went to the shops he was dragged along with them. Jack knew they were worried about him and that was why they did it. What they didn’t know was that once the draft had come and gone, he didn’t have anything else important to fail at that could push him to the edge again.

Jack spent the time without his parents around searching for amateur hockey teams. There were a couple, but they practiced at the same time as his peewee team, and he refused to give that up. Not after it had helped him so much over the past year.

He thought he’d found one that was a little further afield but that trained at different times, when Jack heard the door behind him open. He quickly opened a new window.

“Your maman ran into everyone she’s ever known.” Papa sat down on the sofa next to Jack. “What are you up to?”

Jack looked down at his laptop screen. There was an advert for Samwell University.

“Looking at colleges.”

“Didn’t know you wanted to go to college.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Let us know if you decide anything.” Papa hauled himself back off the sofa. “I should help your maman bring the shopping in.”

Jack distantly heard papa leave the room. He stared at the ad.

It showed a photo of smiling students walking on the campus. It was sunny in the photo, and showed a quad with a well in the middle, with what looked like a lake in the background. It looked alright, and maybe college was a good idea. He’d be around people his own age again. Jack wondered whether they had a hockey team.

He clicked the ad.

*

Teaching hockey was great; being back on the ice had done wonders for Jack, and watching the boys improve week to week was what got him through the days, but there was nothing quite like playing.

Jack had gone along to a couple of practices for the amateur team he’d found out about. The team mostly consisted of men ten years older than him who had enjoyed hockey in school but hadn’t been good enough to carry it on professionally.

It didn’t matter. Jack was playing again, and there was no pressure on him. Scouts didn’t turn up at practices with their clipboards to scrutinise his every move. He was allowed to make a mistake and the entire team wouldn’t blame him for losing. It took him a few weeks, but Jack started to enjoy playing hockey again.

*

Jack was exhausted, and it was only midday.

He’d had a practice with the amateur hockey team in the morning. For some reason the coach had decided to push them all harder than usual, which had meant Jack had been forced to play like he had when he had been playing in the QMJHL. After over a year of not playing, it was more than what Jack was capable of. Now, he was ready to shower and collapse on his bed.

He unlocked the front door, and had barely taken a step inside when papa emerged from the kitchen carrying a bucket of water and a sponge.

“Hey, kiddo. Keep the door open, I’m going to wash the car. How was practice?” Papa didn’t wait for an answer, gesturing to the side table next to the door and adding, “You’ve got post,” before walking through the front door.

Jack glanced at the envelope on the table and his heart froze. The envelope was plain white, apart from the Samwell crest stamped in red ink in the top left corner.

Jack dropped his hockey bag on the floor. He had to focus on his breathing to keep it steady. With trembling fingers, he opened the envelope.

_Dear Mr Zimmermann,_

_We are pleased to offer you a place of study commencing Fall 2011._

Jack read the first sentence. And reread it.

He was in. He was really going to college. Everything was starting to go right again.

“Is everything alright, sweetie?”

Maman’s voice behind Jack made him jump. He spun round, holding the letter tightly in his hand.

“I got into Samwell,” Jack said. His mouth was dry, and the words sounded weird being spoken out loud.

Maman’s face broke into a smile, and she pulled him into a hug.

“I’m so proud of you. Your papa’s going to be thrilled.”

*

“Where have you applied?”

“Calgary, Samwell, Minnesota, and Carleton, but I’ve only been accepted at Samwell so far.”

“Samwell?” Nathan asked. He was fiddling with the camera, getting used to which buttons he had to press and when.

“It’s near Boston. They have a good history program.”

“A good hockey one too, I’ll bet.”

Jack nodded at the ground. It was a little silly: he was trying not to focus on the hockey aspect too much, and concentrate more on the academic merits of the colleges. But of course the colleges he’d liked the look of _had_ had good hockey teams, and that’s why he was here with papa and Nathan, on the ice after coaching the peewee team.

He was making a tryout tape to send to the coaches of the colleges he’d applied for. He didn’t want an athletic scholarship – they were better off going to people who couldn’t afford to go to college – but he’d be damned if he didn’t try out for the team anyway.

Papa was going to film him playing with his amateur team, but he wanted to show off his technical skills in a more controlled environment. Papa had agreed to be his partner when he was needed.

“Ready?” Jack said, his head down and eyes on the puck in front of him.

“Go!”

*

A couple of weeks later, Jack was coaching the peewee team and had pulled two of the boys out of normal practice to focus on their passing.

“Hey, coach,” Robbie said, looking at Jack just as Tom passed to him and missing the puck by a mile. Jack did his best to refrain from sighing, as he reached out with his stick to stop the puck before it made its way to centre ice.

“Yes?”

“My brother says he wants to start hockey next year. You’ll look after him, won’t you? He’ll be alright?”

Robbie was looking at Jack, worry and concern on his face in equal measure. Jack understood why: his little brother was autistic.

 “I’m not going to be here next year, but I’m sure Coach Landry will look after him. You don’t need to worry about him.”

“Why won’t you be here?” The boys asked in unison.

“I’ve been accepted in college.” A smile broke out on Jack’s face as he spoke, but he tried to refocus. “Now, come on. You both need to practise your passing, get back in a line and we’ll skate to the other side.”

Robbie and Tom weren’t paying attention to him. They stayed standing still.

“Does that mean you’ll get letters after your name? My friend’s mom went to college and she has letters after her name,” said Robbie.

“Where are you going?” Tom asked.

“Samwell, it’s near Boston.”

“In the States?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s so far.” Tom sounded awed.

“It’s not too far. I’ll be able to come home for holidays.”

“Will you visit us?”

Jack laughed. “You won’t be on this team by then.”

“But you’ll visit?”

“Of course I will,” Jack said, looking down at the two boys who were looking at him earnestly. They beamed at him.

*

The boys won Jack’s last match as coach. Everyone was ecstatic, Jack especially so, but that feeling was marred by his sadness at having to say goodbye.

The teams and coaches had shaken hands, but while Jack was having a word with one of the parents, Nathan had called the team over to him at centre ice and was talking to them in hushed tones. Jack skated over, and as he neared, Nathan stopped talking.

The other team was still on the ice, huddled near the bench. Most of the parents were still sat in the stands, looking at him expectantly.

“Jack,” Nathan said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “The boys and I want to thank you for all the work you’ve put into the team.”

“Oh, I – erm…” There wasn’t time for Jack’s garbled thanks. A group of boys from the previous year’s team came out of the tunnel bearing flowers and a box of chocolates. They skated towards Jack and passed him the gifts.

“Thanks, Coach Z.”

“Yeah, thanks coach.”

Jack juggled the gifts so he had one hand free and was quick enough to ruffle the boys’ hair before they skated off again, giving him mock disgusted looks as they went.

Jack didn’t have time to breathe before the current team engulfed him in one massive group hug. It didn’t last long – their parents were watching, after all – and they left for the changing room.

“I mean it, you know,” Nathan said, shaking Jack’s hand as they skated off the ice. “I know the last couple of years haven’t been easy on you, but I really appreciate what you’ve done for the kids. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.”

“It was no problem. I loved it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know whether my attempt to play with the tense at the beginning to show how disconnected from his life Jack felt at that time. I'm sorry if it was confusing and not consistent at all, I was just experimenting.


End file.
